by Joan Mauch
Surreptitiously scrutinizing the property, Zac sauntered down the block playing the role of tourist to the hilt for any one watching. After strolling a little over a block, he glanced at his watch, then turned around. Lil ’ol tourist guy’s lost and going back the way he came—at least that’s what he hoped nosy neighbors would think. He barely reached the edge of the property when a man came out the front door and headed down the street without giving Zac a second glance.
It couldn’t have been more perfect if Zac had scripted it himself. He’d follow the guy and see what he could find out. The man wasn’t hard to track. His shabby apparel set him apart from the stylish tourists parading up and down the street. He appeared preoccupied to the point he nearly got hit by a car as he crossed the street and entered a cafe.
The place reminded Zac of the eateries back home where he could afford to dine without having to take out a loan. Its shabby walls were covered with local art—a devil with a hot pink joojoo eyeball; sassy signs suggested customers could “Take it or leave it”; and sculptures that reflected Cuban-American taste.
Booths squatted along one side of the room, a counter with stools on the opposite side with a smattering of tables down the center. Zac hesitated at the door as if waiting to be seated. Nodding when a server said he could “sit anywhere” he drew a breath of relief. The man had parked himself at the counter with two unoccupied stools next to him.
Zac quickly followed before the opportunity was lost. Picking up a menu, he began to scan it, then turning to the man, said, “You eat here often?”
“What if I do? What’s it to you?”
Zac had to admit the man wasn’t bad looking in a tough-guy sort of way. He had thick black hair, piercing eyes with eyelashes most women would kill for. His most obvious flaw was his teeth. Apart from needing a good cleaning and some whitening, he probably should’ve worn braces as a kid. They weren’t what used to be called “buck teeth” but were crooked, detracting from what was possibly a pleasant smile. With a well developed set of muscles the man had an attitude that said using them on whoever crossed him would suit him just fine.
“Sorry.” Zac’d love to bust the guy across the mouth but since that wouldn’t get him anywhere, he put his nice-guy face on and said, “I’ve never had Cuban food and wondered what someone who eats here often would recommend. Do you?”
“Do I what?”
What’s the guy deaf? Digging deep to avoid showing his annoyance, Zac said, “Eat here often?”
A light bulb seemed to go on inside the man’s head. His attitude went from rude and sullen to that of a connoisseur.
“Oh, yeah, I s’pose I do at that. Sure. Wadda ya’ wanna know?”
“What’s good to eat?” Zac figured if he kept his sentences short, maybe the man would understand him.
“Oh, lemme think.” He moved one stool over so as to sit next to Zac. “Myself I most always order the ‘Real Cuban.’ It’s so good they got an award for it. Has crusty bread, pork and ham with some kinda mustard-mayo mix, pickle and Swiss cheese. Plus they include a dipping sauce.” He stopped for a moment and swallowed as if in anticipation.
Returning to the subject, he added, “But don’ let me tell you what to order. Most anything here’s real good.” He waved his hand as if he owned the place. “I’ve had it all. But the Cuban’s what keeps me coming back whenever I want something special.”
Right then the server approached and both men ordered the Cuban with sides of fries and, at the man’s suggestion, a Corona. Zac would have preferred a Coke but didn’t want to risk offending him. He appeared to be teetering on the edge of some kind of breakdown and Zac didn’t want to be the one to push him over.
While they waited for their order, Zac reached out and said, “Thanks for your help. Name’s Zac. I’m visiting my brother for a few days.”
Half expecting to be rebuffed, he was more than a little surprised when the man grinned, shook his hand and said, “You’re welcome. I’m Leon. Welcome to Tampa.”
“Thanks,” Zac tossed him a smile so big you’d think he’d just met his favorite rock star. “So what’s to do around here for fun?”
“Depends on how much ya wanna spend. You can go high-end and do the town with shows, theater, expensive dining and women—or do it on the cheap by going to the beach, the aquarium or a ballgame if the Rays are in town.”
“And how about you? What do you do?”
A shadow seemed to fall across Leon’s face. His pleasant expression morphed into what Zac took to be pain.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to pry,” Zac feared he was about to lose the man along with what may well be his only opportunity to get to the bottom of the Izzie situation.
Clearing his throat and putting on what looked like a forced smile, Leon said, “No, it’s all right. You weren’t sticking your nose in my business or nothin’. It’s just that my girl and I, well, we, uh, sort of broke up and I’m still dealing with it. Know what I mean?” He stopped talking and took a swig of beer.
“You kidding me? Broads can tear your heart out, shred it to pieces and feed it to you on a fork. Been there more than once, believe me.”
“You’ve been dumped? Seriously?” Leon set his beer bottle down on the counter and swung the stool around to face Zac.
“Hasn’t everyone? That what happened?” He realized he was pushing the envelope. If he went too far, Leon might shut him out and leave. But he’d opened the door and if the girl he’d broken up with was Izzie, then he might have information on her whereabouts. He had to at least give it a try.
“Not exactly. My girl, man she was perfect, drop-dead gorgeous—had these big blue eyes that just begged you to take her to bed. Know what I mean?”
Zac watched Leon become increasingly animated with every reference to his lost love. His expression alternated between joy and grief as his words brought memories of her to the surface. It was curious how he referred to her in the past tense. Was that merely his way of expressing the death of their relationship?
The conversation lulled as Zac chewed the last bite of his Cuban while Leon stared across the counter at something or someone only he could see.
“So, what happened?” Zac said it carefully hoping he hadn’t crossed the line.
Leon appeared startled as if he’d forgotten Zac was still there. “What happened with what?”
“With your girl, uh, what’s her name now?” Zac held his breath. If Leon said anything other than Izzie, all bets were off and he’d know he was barking up the wrong tree.
“Isabelle Campbell’s her name, Izzie for short. God, I miss her.”
“She dump you?”
“What’s it to you?” Leon lashed out at Zac and reached for the bill.
Zac put his hand on Leon’s and said, “Let me get it. You’ve been good company for a lonely tourist. I didn’t mean to stir up bad memories. I was just interested, that’s all. No harm done?”
Leon examined Zac’s face as if searching for a hint of duplicity. Apparently finding none, he blew out a sigh of relief. “Well, thanks. I ain’t had nobody buy me lunch in like, well, maybe never. ’Preciate it.”
“My pleasure.” Zac pulled out several bills and, not knowing what else to say, stood up preparing to depart.
“Say,” Leon said, as though a light had gone on inside his head. “If you’re not doing anything, wanna go over to Clearwater? The pier’s a cool place, ’specially if you’ve never been there.”
Zac eagerly agreed. This day was turning out to be damned near perfect. Not only had he connected with the man who may have something to do with Izzie’s disappearance, but he’d get to see the Gulf of Mexico for the very first time. How cool was that?
Chapter 28
It was the end of a long day covering stories accompanied by an intern. Morris Stone had said it was the best he could do for the time being. The girl was sweet, but not particularly bright; Jackson’d had to grit his teeth to keep from yelling at her. He knew better than to do something li
ke that. It wouldn’t be the first time someone called the station to complain about cameramen “abusing” their reporters. Yeah, right. And who complains about how reporters treat their photogs? No one, that’s who.
He sighed and inserted his front-door key into the lock. Now all he had to do was get through an evening without Zac having a meltdown. He’d be glad when his brother’s visit was over. After little more than a week, he’d had about all he could stand of him lying around, messing up the place. Cleaning up after himself was hard enough for Jackson without having to do it for two.
He swung the door open, expecting to see his living room in shambles and his brother stretched out on the sofa watching TV. To his surprise, not only was he greeted with a silence so complete he could hear the faint ticking of the living room clock, but the apartment looked pretty much the same as when he’d left for work that morning. Puzzled, Jackson poked his head into his bedroom and then went out on the lanai, expecting to see Zac passed out in an alcoholic stupor.
“Zac,” he called out. “I’m home.” More silence. What the hell? Where was he? Then he remembered he’d loaned him the car and was, no doubt, out living it up. Well that was just fine. After all the man had never been to Florida before and was probably bored silly laying around doing nothing all day. Still, he’d have to start using the bus. If Jackson could do it, then he could too.
It was a little after nine. Jackson had finished eating and was watching television when the door flew open and Zach strolled in.
“Hey,” Jackson said, recovering from a sudden start. “Where’ve you been? I already ate but there’re some leftovers if you’re hungry.”
“I’m good.” Zac went to the fridge and got a bottle of beer. “Want one?”
Jackson shook his head.
“So how’d your day go?”
Jackson shrugged. “I still don’t have a reporter, so I just did some VOSOTs. Got tied up all day with a new intern who doesn’t even know how to attach a video camera to a tripod. Damned near broke a $50,000 piece of equipment. And guess who’d get blamed? Me, that’s who. Man, I’m so tired of dealing with people like that.” He took a deep breath. “Maybe I’ll have that beer after all.”
Zac, who’d started into the living room, retraced his steps. “Here you go. Um, what’d you say you did?”
“What? Oh, the VOSOTs. Sorry, sometimes I forget how much jargon we use at work. VOSOTs are voice-over sounds on tape. It refers to a story read by the anchor in which the viewer sees video over part of it, for example a car accident, followed by a sound bite say, from a witness. We use them when there’s no reporter available.”
“Oh, I get it.” Zac took a pull from his beer and leaned back in the swivel rocker. “Cool.”
“How ’bout you? What’d you do? Looks like you’re sunburned. Go to the beach?”
“Well, yeah, actually I did, but that’s not the half of it.” Zac’s leg bounced rapidly. He began to twist the beer bottle around and around.
“So?” Jackson reached out and put his hand on the bottle.
“Well, like we agreed I went to see if the police found out anything and, of course, they hadn’t. Said they’d checked with the family and were told Izzie takes off sometimes, but shows up eventually. So unless we come up with evidence of foul play, there’s nothing they can do.”
Jackson nodded. “Yeah, but…”
Zac raised his hand to stop him. “So, I decided to check out the house with the balcony.”
“You did what?”
“I went over there to see what I could find out. I gotta say it’s kinda creepy what with the grates over the windows, the shades pulled down and all. Well, I walked past then as I turned around, this guy comes outta the house, so I followed him.”
Jackson leaned in toward Zac. “You didn’t.”
“Yeah, I did. Followed the guy into a little dump of a restaurant, sat right next to him at the counter too.”
Jackson’s mouth dropped, his eyes fairly bulged as Zac related the details of his encounter with Leon. Several times he started to interrupt, only to be tamped down.
“Lemme finish, then you can ask all the questions you want.” Zac told him the whole story, ending with the fact Leon’s girlfriend was named Isabelle Campbell.
The expression on Jackson’s face was a mix of hope and alarm. “I knew it. That guy has something to do with Izzie’s disappearance.”
“Well, maybe he does and maybe he doesn’t. He seemed genuinely upset by their breakup. Said he loved her and was having a hard time dealing with it. Didn’t you say she was a stuck-up bitch? Maybe she went out with him a few times, led him to believe they had something going and then dumped him. That’s what it sounds like.”
“I don’t know, Zac, I just have a feeling there’s more to it than that.”
“Well, the guy does come off tough, like he wouldn’t mind kicking your teeth in if you looked at him wrong. Anyway, I’m going to tell the cops what I found out and suggest I get to know Leon better. He said he was in the ‘import’ business and I want to see what he means by that. When I asked him about it, he was evasive, which makes me think he’s hiding something. On the other hand, with Izzie out of the picture I figure he’s lonely and might welcome someone he can trust.”
Zac leaned back and took a final gulp of beer. “So, what do you think?”
If he’d stuck his finger in an electric outlet, Jackson could not have been more shocked. His brother, Zac, the deadbeat who’d spent the past ten years smoking weed, drinking and carousing, planned to literally put his life on the line for a woman he’d never met.
“I think the police better be in on this from the get-go or you could end up either the victim of a trafficker or accused of being one.” What if Zac up and disappeared like Izzie had? “And bro,” his voice wavered, “be careful.”
Chapter 29
“Just so I’m clear. You want to make friends with a guy who not only may have something to do with that girl’s disappearance, but also may be involved in human trafficking? Is that what you’re proposing?” If Detective Richard Anders’ eyebrows rose any higher, they’d go clear off his forehead.
Zac nodded with the enthusiasm of a six-year old. “Exactly. I know for a fact he was seeing Izzie. He told me so. Said he loved her. No question about it. I don’t know what happened. He got defensive when I ask why they broke up. Maybe she dumped him and he doesn’t know where she went after that. But if that’s the case, why not say so? Anyhow, there’s something fishy going on, know what I mean?”
Zac sat across from the detective in one of the interview rooms. He wasn’t a stranger to the setup, having found himself at the wrong end of the law on more than one occasion, mostly getting caught driving drunk or buying marijuana. He knew that big “mirror” on the wall was one of those two-way things equipped with a listening devise.
The detective was a thoughtful man whose face reflected concern. “I know the guy you’re talking about; name’s Leon, right?”
“Right.”
“We’ve actually had our eye on him for awhile. From time to time, neighbors have complained about noise and the condition of the place, but we could never get anything to justify a warrant.”
“So, what about my idea? I could buddy up to him, make him think I’m his friend. Get him to invite me inside and take me into his confidence. Who knows, maybe he really is just a poor sap mooning over a breakup, but I have a feeling there’s more to it.”
The detective took a sip from his Styrofoam cup, leaned back and cleared his throat. “So you’re asking me to take you on as an informant?”
“Exactly.”
The detective scrutinized Zac to the point he felt as though the man had reached not only inside his head but into his very soul. Finally he said, “I’ll have to talk to my commander, but I think we can do that. Before I do, I want to make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into. Human traffickers are the absolute worst; they’re the scum of the earth. They’ll stop at nothing
to avoid detection—and that includes murder. You up for that?”
The serious expression on the Anders’ face gave Zac pause. Was he willing to take that big of a risk for someone he’d never met? Did he really give a damn what became of her? If Leon actually was a trafficker, where did that leave Zac? His head began to spin.
“Maybe you’d better think it over before you give me an answer.”
Hesitating for the slightest second, Zac came to a decision. To this point he’d lived a life devoid of concern for anyone but himself. He’d misused every relationship he’d had from as far back as he could remember. Maybe it was time he grew up and put someone ahead of himself for a change. It was true he’d never met the girl, but his brother was concerned about her and that was good enough for him.
“I have thought it over, Detective. I’m up for it,” he said and hoped he hadn’t just made the biggest mistake of his life.
Chapter 30
Leon leaned back in what passed for his favorite chair—a broken-down rocker recliner left behind by the former owners of the place. He closed his eyes and let the strains of Beethoven’s Fifth wash over him, flooding his mind with memories of a distant past.
Classical music had been his secret passion ever since he’d first heard it in Miss Krause’s music-appreciation class. He couldn’t risk telling anyone for fear of being labeled a sissy. After all, his friends—if you could call them that—had been into gangsta’ rap. He’d have gotten beat up every day if they found out.
So he’d kept it a secret from everyone, including his family—no, especially from them. If they’d ever discovered his one record, his brothers would’ve smashed it into tiny pieces, just to see him cry. Somehow Leon had managed to keep it a secret to this very day.
Although it was badly scratched, the music still came through, soothing him and bringing him sorely needed comfort. It crossed his mind that he could replace it with a CD, but then he’d have to go out and buy a CD player. He had a birthday coming in a few weeks. Maybe he’d treat himself to one, instead of ignoring the day as he usually did.